


Wet Hot Las Vegas Summer

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: First Time, M/M, Teenagers, Underage Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan can't believe Spencer accidentally peed on him. But he also kind of can't stop thinking about it.</p><p>For Kink Bingo, "watersports" square.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet Hot Las Vegas Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Contains underage sexual activity (ages not specified, but the characters are young teenagers) and watersports.

“Dinner at seven!” Spencer’s mother calls up the stairs. They make affirmative grunts loud enough to satisfy her and then go back to pretending they’re alone in the house, wishing it weren’t so hot so they could run around outside.

“It’s like the surface of the sun,” Spencer says. Here, in his room, he’ll actually take off his shirt. Sometimes. If Ryan pretends not to notice. Today it’s so hot he’s down to his briefs, a rare occasion indeed. Ryan’s been in just his cargo shorts all day; he’d take them off, but he’s not wearing anything underneath.

“It’s like the outer ring of the seventh circle of hell,” Ryan says, because Dante is amazing, and he lets Spencer’s rote “I hate you and also books” roll off his back.

“It’s like the molten core of the earth,” Spencer says, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead. He’s all-over sweat, and Ryan tries not to look but it’s _Spencer_ , he always looks at Spencer.

“It’s like, uh,” Ryan’s lost track of the conversation, somewhere around the sheen on Spencer’s thighs, “it’s really hot, man.”

“Your mom’s really hot,” Spencer says. “Okay, seriously, we have to do something. Like bathe in ice for the rest of eternity.”

“Ninth circle,” Ryan says, automatically.

“I still hate you and also books.”

“We should shower. Cold, cold showers.” Ryan doesn’t mean it quite like that but Spencer giggles anyway.

“I would make fun of you for longer but it’s too hot. So yes. Oh man, yes, I can practically feel it on my skin.” Spencer’s gone even more languid, eyes closed, imagining. “Cold water, bring me all of the cold water.”

“I don’t think you want it on your bed,” Ryan says, and stands up, puts a hand out to Spencer. “First-shower dibs.”

“Um, no deal,” Spencer says. “My house, my shower.”

“My idea,” Ryan argues. “Also, I could totally die of this heat, and then how would you feel?”

“Vindicated,” Spencer says. “Because _I_ could die of this heat, and your death would prove it.”

“I vindicated your face,” Ryan says, and now he’s grouchy, hot and sticky and standing and arguing, not the best combination. “Spence, c’mon. You can splash yourself from the sink while I’m in the shower.”

“Fine,” Spencer says, “we’ll compromise. Joint shower.”

“Whatever,” Ryan says, but his heart’s beating a little faster now. “Fine.”

It’s not like they’ve never been naked before; they have, a million times, in the locker room at the Y and before bed at Spencer’s. But the showers at the Y are a lot bigger than this one, especially with Crystal and Jackie’s weird scented stuff filling up all the corners and making it impossible to squish up against the wall.

Ryan decides the best way to deal with this is to get right up in the spray, back to Spencer, close his eyes so he can feel the water all over his overheated face. It’s so good, cool droplets running down his body, except—except the very hot water running down his ankle. “What the fuck?” he says, and turns around in time to see Spencer finish up pissing.

“Shit, sorry,” Spencer says, red-faced, “wasn’t paying attention to my aim.” Which, so not good enough! Who pees in the shower when someone else is in there?

“Gross,” Ryan says, and lets the cool water from the shower rinse away the hot feeling on his leg.

***

It’s still hot as fuck that night, Ryan lying in his room at home trying not to wish he were at Spencer’s instead. He kind of always wants to be at Spencer’s, even when there’s no compelling reason to flee his own house. He’s kind of always thinking about Spencer.

Ryan flops over on his belly, which doesn’t do much to cool him down and also makes it impossible to keep ignoring his hard-on. Stupid Spencer and his stupid naked ideas. Spencer’s not supposed to have naked ideas. Spencer is practically never naked anymore, not since he started getting all weird about everything when they started getting hairy. Not that Ryan was paying any attention to any hair anywhere on Spencer when they were in the shower, of course.

Fuck. He rolls back over, shoves a hand into his briefs. Okay. Maybe he was paying a little attention. The hair around Spencer’s cock had been pressed flat by his clothes until the shower fluffed it back into curls, less dense than what Ryan’s got but lighter and shiny. And it made it even harder to look away from Spencer’s hips, the way he tilted them out when he leaned on the tile wall, exhausted from the heat. Spencer uses his hips like a girl, but Ryan’s pretty clear on the fact that there’s a dick between them.

He’s squeezing his own, now, guilt more than outweighed by want. It’s not that bad, thinking about Spencer like this. It’s just—being a teenage boy. Isn’t everyone always saying teenage boys get hard just looking at linoleum? Spencer might as well be linoleum, then. Just—wet, smooth, hairy linoleum. With a dick. Fuck.

And linoleum that _pissed_ on him like some kind of territorial dog, which, which—”Shit,” Ryan says, and scrubs his come-wet hand down his thigh. That was weird. Ryan’s not going to think about it.

***

“Maybe we’ll die of heat exhaustion and heaven will be seventy-five degrees all the time,” Spencer says.

“Whatever, we’re totally hellbound,” Ryan says. “We couldn’t get into heaven with a personal recommendation from Jesus.”

“That would be tricky to get. We’re not really on speaking terms.” Spencer’s barely keeping a straight face, slumped on the wood floor with his arms under his head, and Ryan thinks about rolling over and watching the ceiling instead of Spencer but he can’t really bring himself to do it.

“Yeah, that would be why we’re fucked,” Ryan says. “That and the fireworks thing. And the sinful thoughts.”

“Are you having sinful thoughts?” Spencer rolls over to face Ryan, head on his hand. “Tut tut tut, dirty boy.”

Ryan rolls over to escape his gaze. “Yeah, right, like you don’t use your computer for porn ten times more than for schoolwork.”

“Okay, we’re both doomed,” Spencer agrees. “We’re gonna be in hell, and blind, and with hairy palms.” And now Ryan’s _picturing_ it, Spencer’s smooth palm on his cock, stroking and pulling and—

“Imma do that cool shower thing again,” Ryan says abruptly. “That was the only thing that made yesterday livable.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, and sits up, pulls his knees towards his chest. “Meet you in a minute,” and is Spencer—is Spencer actually—? Ryan can’t think about it, just blesses his cargo shorts and runs for the bathroom.

He’s chilled his dick adequately by the time Spencer comes in, and Ryan backs up to let him step into the spray. “Jesus, you didn’t have to go arctic,” Spencer says, and turns it up a notch, lukewarm-cool. Lukecool? Ryan thinks there should be a word for that; maybe he’ll mess around with the Smiths’ big unabridged dictionary for a while and see if he can find one.

“You gonna piss on me again?” Ryan asks, and then wants to brain himself the tile wall for saying it.

Spencer just rolls his eyes, though. “No, Your Highness, I’ll keep my dirty peasant behaviors to myself today. You’re such a priss sometimes.”

“It is not prissy to want to be a urine-free zone,” Ryan objects. “That’s just normal. You, on the other hand, are weird and unnatural.”

Spencer smirks at him, the prank smirk, the fireworks smirk. “I’ll show you weird and unnatural,” and then he’s _doing it again_ , all over Ryan’s legs this time, and his belly and, and _Jesus fuck_ , Spencer pissed on his cock. It’s so hot, dripping down, and Ryan’s not in the shower spray this time, doesn’t have cool water to wash it away as soon as it happens. Spencer’s got his post-prank face on, the “I know that was stupid but I’m fucking standing by it, try to make me feel bad” face, and Ryan is, is getting hard, motherfuck.

He turns around to face the wall, but Spencer just comes closer, sets his chin on Ryan’s shoulder with the rest of their bodies carefully apart. “C’mon,” he says, blustering. “That was funny.”

“Totally,” Ryan says, and tries to summon up some sarcastic comments. “Funny like your mom’s face.” Spencer’s chin tucks further down Ryan’s shoulder and there’s nothing Ryan can do to hide, nowhere he can go.

“Holy shit.” Spencer’s hands come up to Ryan’s elbows like he needs the support. “Holy _shit_ , that got you hard.”

“No,” Ryan says, forceful, but it’s useless, Spencer’s a stubborn asshole at the best of times, much less now.

“Yes,” and Spencer’s still close, too close, _watching_. “You can—you can jerk off,” he says, and Ryan feels like there’s a magnetic pull between his hand and his dick but he can’t, he can’t.

“Spencer,” he says, and tilts his forehead against the cool tile wall.

“It’s—I will too,” Spencer says, all false bravado. “Then it’s okay.” Ryan has no idea how that logic works, but he has this suspicion, and he leans back and finds out he’s right.

“You’re hard too,” Ryan says, and _now_ it’s okay, now it’s not just him, not just Spencer being _nice_ or something. He turns around, finally, goes ahead and lets himself look, because Spencer looked at him plenty. Spencer’s—it’s funny, they almost look alike, long and thick, red and wanting attention. Ryan wants to know if Spencer’s feels like his, too, but he doesn’t touch it, just looks. “You liked it. Peeing on me.”

“Nah. I just, you know. You—you’re—Ryan.” Spencer’s blushing, and Ryan wants to make it better, less awkward.

“Yes, good job. I’m Ryan, nice to meet you.” Ryan rolls his eyes a little, tries to keep his gaze mostly on Spencer’s face.

Spencer’s still blushing, but he’s reaching down, now, fisting his own dick, and Ryan couldn’t look away if a bomb exploded next door. “We should—I mean. We’re in the shower anyway,” Spencer says, and his voice cracks in the middle.

Ryan’s struck dumb, watching. Spencer does it differently than Ryan, his forefinger and his thumb a tight ring around his dick and the rest of his fingers loose, almost unimportant. “Ryan,” Spencer says, and it would be a whine except it’s sort of a moan, instead, “you have to, too.”

“Uh,” Ryan manages, and wraps a hand around his cock, sucks in a breath and tilts his head back against the tile for a second. It never gets less fucking perfect, this feeling, and right now he’s so hard he could pound nails into the wall.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, under his breath. “Ryan.”

That’s it, just Spencer’s voice saying his name, Spencer’s dick in front of him, and Ryan’s coming already, slick all over his fist as he sags against the tile. He wishes it could have gone on forever. He wishes—”Can I touch you?” he says, and starts to reach for Spencer. Before his fingertips even brush Spencer’s cock, Spencer’s coming, choking out a groan and almost losing his balance.

“Oh, fuck,” Spencer says, and puts his messy hand under the spray of the shower. “Here, you can rinse off.” He slides past Ryan and lets them touch, not bothering to cling to the wall to avoid it, and Ryan almost doesn’t want to get past him, wants to stay pressed between Spencer and the wall and the shower curtain for the rest of time.

Ryan puts his face up to the spray, lets it pour over his eyelids and his lips, scrubs his hands together where the shower’s pounding on his shoulders so he can clean them off. The water’s washing everything away, and he has an uncomfortable feeling that this isn’t the symbolism he wants. He turns around to see Spencer starting to climb out of the shower, looking guilty. “Hey,” he says, and Spencer stops, bites his lip.

“Hey.”

“Um, it’s—it’s supposed to be really hot tomorrow, too,” Ryan says, and he can’t believe he’s finding the balls to say this but he _wants_ to, so much. “Maybe we should, uh, we should take another shower then.”

“Uh,” Spencer says, and the corners of his mouth turn up a little, “okay.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, and turns off the water. The silence it leaves is deafening, and he can’t not—”Um, maybe,” and he can feel the blush rising on his face, “maybe you could, um. Maybe you could have some water first. Or soda or something.”

“It’s important to keep hydrated,” Spencer agrees, but his eyes are on Ryan’s dick, like maybe he gets it. “Um, I could—yeah. If you want.”

Ryan just nods, can’t quite make himself say that he wants—that, that he wants Spencer to _pee_ on him, because it’s just so weird. But it’s good weird, and Spencer is still smiling at him, biting his lip, and, well, okay. They can handle this.

“So, uh,” Spencer says, “do you want—can I kiss you?”

Ryan’s stomach flips over and his throat hurts, all in an instant. “Yes, yeah,” he says, “yeah, Spence,” and Spencer’s climbing back into the shower and touching Ryan’s chin, closing his eyes and leaning in. He’s sort of heading for Ryan’s ear but Ryan keeps his eyes open long enough to get them on the right course, Spencer’s lips on his own. They’re wet and slippery and it should be kind of gross but it’s _Spencer_ , and Ryan just tries to do what he’s seen in movies until Spencer moves his head back.

“Okay,” Spencer says, and his cheeks are pink, “um, do you want to go watch TV?”

“Sure,” Ryan says, and then he leans in, just to see if Spencer will let him, and they’re kissing again, and Spencer’s hands are on his hips.

Ryan pulls back, finally, and he’s grinning, can’t make his face do anything else. Spencer grins back at him. “I like the summer,” Ryan says, because it’s suddenly true, heat wave and all.

“Yeah,” and Spencer’s really getting out of the shower now, but his eyes are still on Ryan. “Me too.”


End file.
